My French Holiday Diary- Day 9

We visit the comic book fair, have another delicious dinner, and the stew of the century begins...

Day 9- Sunday 23^rd September.

Cajarc holds an annual comic book fair and, seeing as Amy and Dad-y are both obsessed with comics, it’s become a bit of a tradition to tie in our holiday to Marcilhac with the event. On a hot morning, we found ourselves in the familiar old sports hall, filled with artists and fans. The artists are actually pretty cool in this place, not only do they sign their books for you, they each have a little stall that shows off their artwork, where they sit and draw a personalised sketch inside their books for you. Mum-y queued up to get me a drawing from a man who’d written a comic about his dad in the Second World War. It turned out to be pretty rubbish when she read it apparently, but I was touched by the thought. And amused by Amy freaking out that both the artist and Mum-y couldn’t understand each other so there was a very awkward chat while he was drawing.

Roger and I found two large pictures of a fox and a wolf in a collection of prints that we just had to buy. The two figures were dressed up as if they were in portraits from the seventeenth century, which we found hilarious. We’ve already planned to buy massive frames for them, as if they’re our ancestors and put them either side of a mantelpiece if we ever get a place together.

All in all, the comic fair wasn’t as tedious as I had predicted; we were in and out within the hour and ready for lunch at the fab little café in the church square where we’d eaten last year. But oh no! Disaster, it was all full up! We consoled ourselves with a drink in the main square of Cajarc (for some reason I had a pina colada that was pretty good but why I ordered one I couldn’t say) before piling back into the boiling hot car and driving home for a lunch of little nibbly things.

In the evening, I gave in at last to my urge of always wanting to roast onions. I added them to a delicious gratin concoction with chicory wrapped in pancetta and set about roasting some tasty, rusk-free (hoorah for Dad-y!) sausages in the oven. Leaving everything on a low heat, Roger and I joined Amy and Mum-y on a twilight walk around the village. We walked along the river bank, looking at little frogs, then into the abbey grounds where eerie hymns emanated from the locked door to the chapel. Once we caught sight of a bat though, that was it for Roger and we scooted out of there double-quick and joined Amy and Mum-y further on by the bridge to admire the pumpkins.

A massive Alsatian barked angrily and echoingly down at us as we passed the baker’s. It’s very rude to bark only when people are directly below you as it tends to frighten the crap out of one. Dogs don’t often have a sense of decorum though. Once we’d recovered from the shock, we set about gleefully collecting conkers. Beauties, they were too. We collected some for Dad-y who was reading in bed back at home.

The dinner was delicious and autumnal when we got back home and to wind down afterwards, I began to assemble my veal stew. Every ingredient was so special, there was simply no way it wouldn’t be amazing. Mushroom, little onions, little carrots, bouquet garni, freshly peeled and diced tomatoes, stock, white wine, smoked bacon… Goodness, I could have eaten it raw. It perfumed the house with the most delicious aroma and we were all driven mad by it. I gave Roger a spoonful of stock to taste after a couple of hours and it was so good he ran around the house whooping. That’s how good it was.